


Missing You

by rae_aaah



Series: Written for Others [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angry Sex, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Butt Plugs, Lance (Voltron) in Heels, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Up, Rimming, Stripper Lance (Voltron), Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-12 19:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21481861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_aaah/pseuds/rae_aaah
Summary: Keith is drunk. Well, he’s not drunk-drunk. Just tipsy. Enough of a buzz to feel it in his bones. He usually doesn’t, drink a lot, that is, but it’s been a shitty week on top of a shitty month and he- he misses La-He huffs, rubs his fingers over his eyes and stars burst out in the middle of this dark place they’re in. It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he throws back another shot. They’ve broken up and it doesn’t matter. Even if he misses him, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Relationships: Adam/Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Written for Others [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406800
Comments: 5
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for my lovely friend Lapis, who knows what all my buttons are.

Keith is drunk. Well, he’s not _ drunk _ -drunk. Just tipsy. Enough of a buzz to feel it in his bones. He usually doesn’t, drink a lot, that is, but it’s been a shitty week on top of a shitty month and he- he misses La-

He huffs, rubs his fingers over his eyes and stars burst out in the middle of this dark place they’re in. It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he throws back another shot. They’ve broken up and it doesn’t matter. Even if he misses him, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Shiro’s sandwiched between him and Curtis, and Adam sits on his other side, boxing Keith in. The heavy weight of their eyes are on him, silently judging and sad.

“What?” he snaps at them, chases his drink with beer. The liquid presses on his bladder and he stands. “I need to piss,” he says and nudges his elbow into Adam’s side. Adam grumbles but bounces out of the booth, sliding back in and pressing up against Shiro when he resettles himself. Keith is definitely not drunk enough to see him get hands-y under the table, his fingers blending in with Curtis’ over Shiro’s fly. 

Keith shakes his head, makes his way to the side of the club where there’s a discreet sign that reads  _ Restrooms.  _ The corridor is narrow and dimly lit by several wide-spaced spotlights. The red door at the end of the hall, guarded by a beefy man in a black shirt who watches him like a hawk, opens and someone with legs for miles, steps gingerly out. Keith can make out heels at the hem of a long coat, but he cuts his eyes away. Hopes that the bouncer doesn’t think he’s about to break into the back room where the dancers are.

He stumbles a little, the floor shifting as he walks and he butts his shoulder against the wall for support. The bass from the music vibrates through him and it feels good in that drunken way that everything feels good. The floor shifts again and Keith misses a step on the completely flat ground and trips. 

The person who had been coming down the hall opposite holds out their hands to catch him.

“Are you- Keith?”

“Sorry! I’m, sorry- Lance?”

And he’s being pushed away, back against the wall, and when he looks up, Lance is there, taller than he’s ever been (except maybe that time once or twice with the heels when they used to-) and he gives him a quick up-down and god, those shoes makes his legs impossibly delicious-

“Everything alright, Blue?” comes a gruff voice from down the hall.

“Yeah,” Lance says weakly. “Yeah, Antok, we’re all good,” and Lance is turning away, the smell of sweet perfume clouding into Keith’s senses and then drifting further from him and Keith feels his heart crushing under the weight of that indifference all over again.

Lance’s shoes, almost a four inch platform with a spike that could probably kill him, tap down the hall and once he turns a corner, he’s out of Keith’s sight.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he curses as he careens and pushes the bathroom door open roughly, his head swimming in booze and the smell of Lance Lance Lance. He angrily tears open the button to his fly, lowers the zip and the rush of his bladder leaving him eases his agitation some. He tips his head back, the long line of his throat stretching. He finishes, tucks back into his jeans, and washes his hands. 

When he pushes out of the restroom, the lights are dimmed to a deep cerulean. There’s the thudding bass of a song that Lance would shake his hips to when he would dance around in the kitchen as he would bake. The song that would rile Keith up and he would come up behind Lance, smell butter and sugar and vanilla, press right up against Lance’s ass in tiny, little shorts-

He’s been conditioned, and already getting hard from it-

And there, up on the stage-

Keith swallows, the bottom falling out of his stomach as he sees Lance twirling around a pole, slowly unbuttoning a white dress shirt at the throat. 

He stomps back over to his table where three sets of eyes are on him, wary.

“Is this why we’re here?” Keith shouts over the sound of the music and he’s glaring at Shiro specifically.

It’s Adam that answers, the light swiveling and reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses. “Yes, because you are an absolute child and have been a complete grouch  _ and, _ ” he says, talking over Keith’s opening mouth, “You’re still not over him,” he finishes, knocking back his drink. 

“Keith, please sit down,” Shiro says. “At least finish your drink,” and he motions to the half full beer, sweating on the table. 

Keith grunts angrily, picks up the bottle, and starts to chug on it, but there’s a high whistle and he shouldn’t look, he really shouldn’t- but he does, he could never resist looking at Lance, and his stomach roils as he watches Lance squat, spread his knees, and shows off a glittering blue thong, the soft bulge of his cock prominent as his thighs stretch. Keith’s eyes feast on the delicious hollows right at Lance’s groin and he remembers pressing his thumbs there, sliding down all that smooth skin to stroke at the rise of Lance’s taint as Keith would fuck him. 

He’s getting harder in his jeans, the beer bottle pulled away from his lips.

Lance throws his shirt off, works himself all up and down that shiny, silver pole and Keith cannot look away.

Their eyes meet across the dim room and Lance’s cheeks flush, his nipples tightening. Keith knows that look. 

Lance’s song finishes and he bows gracefully, making an absolute show of bending over and picking up the bills that had fluttered onto the stage like leaves. 

“And, now, our most popular dancer, Blue, is going to be offering private dances! It’s a two for one special right now, so if you…”

There’s a hard tap to his waist and he looks down. Curtis is holding up several bills with a small smile on his face. 

Keith looks around the table; Adam’s shit eating grin, Shiro’s quiet encouragement, and Curtis’ patient offering- he takes the money gingerly, holds it in his hand like it’ll catch fire any moment and walks to the row of stalls that holds a single bench seat and a flimsy sliding door.

And Lance.

Lance spots him immediately, his eyes growing hard and his shoulders tense. Keith walks up to him, slow and cautious, still unsure of what Lance will do. 

“I’d like to buy a dance,” he says, swallows around the lump that’s blocking most of his words from coming out  _ I miss you so much you’re so fucking sexy those shoes I’m sorry I’m sorry it’s so cold at home If this is what it takes to see you- _

He holds out the bills and Lance eyes him critically. His breathing is heavy and his mouth is set and Keith knows Lance is about to say no so he throws his hurt pride to the wind. 

“Please,” swallows again, trying to get rid of his nerves. “Lan- Blue. Blue I, I really liked your dancing,” he says sounding so lame.

Lance’s eyes soften, a flush surfacing across his cheeks and the high bridge of his nose. “Alright,” and he takes the money from Keith, feeding it into the machine on the wall. He motions for Keith to step inside. Keith inhales  _ vanilla sugar butter their home on a lazy day  _ and sits hard onto the bench, fingers digging into the plastic seating. 

There’s another discreet sign on the wall opposite:  _ Do Not Touch. _

Lance steps in front of his line of sight, puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, starts to sway. “Scooch to the edge and spread your legs a little,” he says, voice trembling. “You, you can touch me,” he says. 

Blood roars in Keith’s ears at that. “I can’t,” he bites out, gripping the seat harder just at the thought.

“Don’t worry about the sign. If I give you permission, it’s ok-”

“Lance, I  _ can’t _ ,” he chokes out. “Please, just. Dance for me?”

Bright blue eyes bore into his own, the center of his brow creased. He blinks a few times, processing, but nods, starts to sway his hips more. The beat picks up and Lance is getting into the groove, bending more at the waist, coming closer, shedding the shirt he had half buttoned to try and keep himself warm, but it’s useless now, the space between them- building heat and an electric charge.

And Keith just wants. To. Touch. Him.

Lance spins around, the long length of his spine a sinful curve, and Keith drinks in the sight of the dip in his back, the shallow dimples right above the elastic of the thong that he wears, tight enough to cut into his flesh. How his calves and thighs at buttocks stand out, the muscles highlighted beautifully in the low light due to the forced arch of his feet.

He presses fully into Keith then, the hot line of his back against Keith’s front and he  _ grinds  _ that pert ass into the vee of Keith’s crotch. Keith bites his lip to hide a moan, bites harder as Lance does it again, circling his hips, doing it just they way they used to when they would-

Lance moans as he rubs against Keith’s hard-on, doesn’t even lose contact with the front of his pants, just slots, tight to him, the movement a cheap imitation when they would roll around in bed together. 

“Ahhn, Keith,” Lance breathes, the same way he would when he was feeling it. Lance’s hands come out and to support themselves on Keith’s thighs and he can’t take it anymore. He grabs at Lance’s hips, pulls him as close as he can, thrusts up and grinds right back. He lays his forehead between Lance’s shoulder blades  _ vanilla sugar butter  _ licks up his spine  _ salty-sweet _ and moans against the curve of Lance’s neck as he throws his head back. 

“Baby, baby- oh, fuck- Lance,” he murmurs, taking all of Lance’s weight as he sags into him, runs his hands over his stomach and chest and throat- holds him close as they move against each other. 

“Fuck me,” Lance urges, fingers scrambling behind him to get at Keith’s fly. “These stupid buttons, come on, Keith, quick-” and he’s getting Keith’s cock out, palming it roughly. Reaching around to spit in the bowl of his hand and stroking the wetness down Keith’s shaft. He throbs in Lance’s smooth hand, Keith already pulling the string of the thong away from Lance’s hole, letting saliva pool in his mouth and dripping it down his crease. 

Lance lets loose another moan and Keith slaps a hand over his mouth, fingers losing their grip as Lance parts his lips and starts to suck on Keith’s fingers. Lance uses his hands to hold his cheeks apart, holds the thong to one side, as Keith lines up the head of his cock to Lance’s hole. He pushes in gently, the tip turning white, losing its cherry-red color around the squeeze of Lance’s rim. 

Lance relaxes his body, the stiffness of his shoulders and back leave and transfer all into his thighs as he braces himself. Keith slips his fingers from Lance’s mouth, trails it down his chest, pinches a nipple along the way, before settling at the bend of Lance’s hip. He uses his hold to guide Lance back, guide him down, and by the time he’s fully seated they’re both sweating bullets. 

Lance lets go of his ass cheeks and Keith flushes with how they swallow the neck of his cock. He puts his hands out in front of him to try and brace himself but the wall is too far away. Keith pushes up with his hips, gets them to stand, and the angle forces Keith deeper. Lance bends further at the waist, supports their combined weight with the strength in his arms, nods.

Keith draws his hips back and slams home.

He grunts and Lance keens, low, at the bottom of his throat. The vibrations travel through Lance’s back into Keith’s chest  _ just like the bass _ and he buries his nose into the sweaty hair at Lance’s nape. “Baby, god- you feel so good, so good for me,” he chants as he starts to thrust in earnest. 

The music is loud, a thick and heavy rhythm, and Keith snaps his hips in time. It thrums through his bones.

“Hurry, before the song ends,” Lance grunts, the blade of his shoulder flexing in that familiar way. Keith reaches around, joins his hand over Lance’s, fisting his cock, moans at how sticky everything is.

“You’re so wet,” he pants. “Is all of this for me?”

Lance scoffs, peers over his shoulder. “Cocky asshole,” but his eyes are kind, his smile a little strained from the force of Keith’s hips against his own. “I’m close, make me come, fuck your come into me.”

And Keith, never one able to resist Lance in any sort of way, starts to pound into his slender, malleable body, whipcord tight and perfect. Keith fucks him just the way he likes, shallow and full, right across that cluster of nerves that makes Lance’s hole flutter, makes him tighten in arrhythmic spasms, turns his insides into a furnace-

Lance thrashes a little as he comes, bucks back hard onto Keith’s pistoning cock. He cries out but the music drowns out his voice. The song dies down and there’s scattered applause, the sound of the emcee announcing how there are other dancers offering private shows and Keith is still rock hard inside of Lance.

He butts back into Keith’s pelvis. “Do it,” Lance urges. “While it’s quiet. Show me you can come without making a sound,” he challenges, tightens his hole as much as he can, stays that way, and Keith grits his teeth, slapping his thighs to Lance’s with small jerks of his hips, riding his prostate. Lance whines, threatening to give them away...

“Shh,” Keith chides. “Who’s the one being loud now?” 

“Fuck you,” he spits, widens his stance, grabs at Keith’s hip with a sweaty hand. “Hurry, Keith-”

Keith gives one heaving shove with his hips, pressing all the way in, all the way to the hilt, and Lance  _ does  _ wail this time. Keith’s unable to stop it, has that bright frison of panic that makes him pulse crazily one last time, shoots the last spurt into Lance’s soft body. He drapes himself over Lance’s back. Puckers a kiss to Lance’s skin. 

He pulls his hips back slowly and his cock slips limply and splatters come onto both their thighs. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Lance says, straightening. There’s a glistening trail of Keith’s come, running down the inside of his thigh, the thong soaking up the lot of it. He pulls the shirt on and hastily shoves his arms through the sleeves. The hem hits right below the curve of his cheeks and Keith’s eyes are riveted. Hunger races through him all over again.

His hand is on the door handle, ready to slide it back and Keith grabs his elbow. “Lance, please-” and he shuffles around his trapped thighs, his softening cock still hanging out and this was definitely not the place Keith expected to be apologizing. But here he is. Here they are.

Lance is tense in his grip, half of his face obscured by shadow. “Put your dick away.”

“Sorry,” is all he can manage to say. He lets go of Lance’s arm, the heat of him falling away. He pulls the waistband up over his hips. Zippers and buttons up. Lance is still standing there. “I’m sorry. Please, come home,” he pleads. 

Lance jerks his elbow out of Keith’s grip. Turns to him and he towers over Keith in those fucking shoes, and for the first time in a long time, Keith feels small, vunerable. Scared of rejection. Like the first time he asked Lance out on a date. 

He reaches up, eyes bright and wide, and fists his hand in Keith’s hair, tugging sharply and smashes their lips together, and this Keith knows. This fire. Urgency and frantic wanting. How they were so angry at each other. Cutting words that wounded deep. And Keith is so, so sorry. 

“Please,” he murmurs against Lance’s mouth. “Come home.”

Lance pulls back, pushes Keith away. “This doesn’t make up for anything. I’m still so fucking mad at you,” he tells him, breathing hard against Keith’s lips. He kisses him again, softer, deeper. Almost in forgiveness. 

"I know," Keith murmurs back, letting a small amount of relief seep into his system. 

"You're going to have to make it up to me, big time," Lance says resting his forehead against Keith's shoulder.

"I know," he repeats, more and more hope flooding his veins. One last try. "Please, Lance. Come home."

Lance sighs, breath warm and soft against the skin behind his ear, kisses against Keith's throat. "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance’s hand comes down and runs through Keith’s hair, tugging him away. “Christ, come here, come here, fuck me- Keith, please,” and how could Keith ever resist that siren’s call.
> 
> He gathers Lance’s legs together, from thigh to knee to ankle, throws them over his shoulder. He runs his hand up the soft length of Lance’s shins, over the ridges of the straps on his shoes. Turns his head and presses his lips to the side of Lance’s calf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're home now...

Keith waits in alley, leaned up against his motorcycle. It’s freezing and late, but Lance said he would come home and Keith’s not going to let him get away again. The door to the club opens and Lance steps out, in a puffy jacket, dark jeans and those fucking heels on. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, stares Keith down.

“Going my way?” he asks, walking down the short concrete steps.  _ Click click click _ , goes his heels, and with each step Keith’s temperature rises.

“Do you want to?” Keith asks back, still unsure. 

Lance steps up to him, so many inches taller now, and Keith looks up at him. Lance is a vision with ruddy cheeks from the cold and his hair swept back from his forehead. His skin sparkles with the glitter he’s so keen on wearing as he works.

“Come on, then,” Lance says and he looks around for the spare helmet. Keith didn't think he’d be taking Lance home, of all people. He puts his helmet into Lance’s hand. He’ll go without and let the night air cool his flushed face. “Won’t you get in trouble?” Lance asks, holding the straps and looking at him dubiously. Keith just shakes his head.

“Only if they catch me,” and Keith swings his leg over the seat of the bike, starts the engine up with a loud rev. Lance looks at him for a moment, before tugging the helmet over his head. Lance climbs on behind him, snugging up all along Keith’s back. The point of his heels press against the back of Keith’s boots and his blood boils under the jacket he wears.

He encircles Lance’s wrist for a moment, grounding himself. This is going to happen. They’re going home. Together. After so many months of riding alone, Lance is-

Lance presses his hand to Keith’s sternum. “Come on, Hot Shot,” he murmurs through the open visor. Keith half turns to face him, slides the visor down. He gives Lance a quick nod and kicks the bike into gear.

***

By the time they get home, Keith is rock hard again in his jeans, the second time tonight caused by none other than Lance. He’d pressed up all over Keith’s back, rubbed at his chest at stop lights, tweaked at his nipples and the vibrations from the engine didn’t help either, shooting straight up his balls and cock. Keith had to grit his teeth the entire ride home.

Keith manhandles him through the door, hands already tugging at his jacket. 

“Hang on, hang on,” he pants against Keith’s mouth and proceeds to lean over to hook his finger into one of the straps that sit above his ankle.

“Leave them on,” Keith growls, hands gripping at Lance’s hips. Lance looks up at him and gives him a sly smile. “I want to fuck you in them.”

“I charge extra for private dances,” he says, voice dropping low- so low, and it shivers through Keith like a caress. 

“How much- fifty? A hundred, whatever you want,” he pants, hands dipping under the waistband of Lance’s jeans. He cups at the globes of Lance’s ass, squeezes, tries to lift him but, even then, he doesn’t even get Lance onto his toes he’s so tall. 

Because of these fucking shoes.

Keith’s hands fumble with Lance’s button and fly, hastily pulls his jeans down. He runs his fingers up the crease of Lance’s ass, feeling against the thong there. He’s still damp from their earlier fucking, and just the thought of it makes Keith’s blood sing. He traces the elastic cutting into Lance’s hips, curls his fingers under it to snap it back against his flesh. 

Lance giggles, takes his hand and lifts it to his mouth. He catches the tip of Keith’s glove between his teeth and tugs, and the leather slides off his hand easily. He does the same to the other and by the time they end up on the floor, Keith is breathing hard. Lance’s hands come up to push Keith’s jacket off his shoulders and Keith shimmies out of it, the dark leather creaking as it falls down his arms.

Lance giggles again, puts pressure on his shoulders, pushes down, and Keith gladly kneels before him. He instantly dives in, mouthing along the bugle in Lance’s thong. He’s salty sweet here, and Keith grunts, licks at the hang of Lance’s balls. He skims his hands up the backs of Lance’s thighs, over the swell of his ass, back into his crease, and his fingers trace over something hard and protruding under the fabric. 

“Lance,” he breathes, two and two coming together. “Is this- are you-?” and Keith swallows down the heavy realization of what he finds. He circles around it with the tip of his index finger and he hears Lance moan above him, delights in how he rocks a little back on the pressure.

“I’ll give you a guess as to why I have it in,” he purrs.

"I don't," he tries, words failing him, and he rubs his forehead against the blade of Lance's hip. "Why?"

“All the better to fuck me with,” Lance giggles. “Just take it out. I’m all stretched for yo-”

And Keith surges up to stand, arms circling around Lance’s waist as he goes. He lifts him off his feet and Lance gets with it, does he get with it, and wraps his long long legs around Keith’s back, ankles locking right at the dip of his spine. The hard plastic of his platforms clack together and Keith shudders. 

He strides quickly into the bedroom, air stale and smelling only like him- but he’s going to change it. Fix it. Make it to how it was. Have Lance’s sweet scent back in this place…

Keith lays Lance out on the mattress, careful not to drop in on his literal ass. Keith takes Lance’s legs in both his hands, holds them apart. He kisses at Lance’s ankle, at the skin covered by the strap of one of his heels. He glides his lips down the side of his calf. Switches to the other leg. Pays it the same due. Lance’s legs are beautiful and they’re Keith’s favorite part of him.

“Fuck, how you look up there,” he murmurs, hands skimming down the soft give of his thighs. “When you dance,” and he curls his fingers under the thong and eases off Lance’s body. A small jeweled plug sits snug in his hole and Keith’s mouth waters. “You’re so lovely,” and he’s sinking to his knees for the second time tonight. He holds up Lance legs in one hand, and, with the other, slowly eases the plug out of him. Lance whines, shifting against his grip, but doesn’t try to escape him. 

Keith leans forward and seals his mouth over Lance’s hole, licking delicately at the rim. 

“Fuck! Keith!”

“Hold your legs up for me, beautiful,” he asks, and one of Lance’s arms band around his thighs. Keith uses his freed up hands to hold Lance’s cheeks apart and starts eating him out in earnest. Keith’s come slowly eases out with the diligence of his tongue and Lance moans as Keith swallows it all down. 

Lance’s hand comes down and runs through Keith’s hair, tugging him away. “Christ, come here, come here, fuck me- Keith, please,” and how could Keith ever resist that siren’s call.

He gathers Lance’s legs together, from thigh to knee to ankle, throws them over his shoulder. He runs his hand up the soft length of Lance’s shins, over the ridges of the straps on his shoes. Turns his head and presses his lips to the side of Lance’s calf. 

Lance reaches beneath himself and holds himself open for Keith. “Put it in,” he whines, begs. “Keith, I’ve missed you, inside-”

And Keith lathers saliva on the tips of his fingers, transfers it to the tip of his cock, lines up against Lance’s hole and pushes home in one, easy stroke. They both moan, loud, guttural. Lance throws his head back and clenches at the sheets. Keith wraps both of his arms around Lance’s thighs, holds him close to his body. He thrusts his hips, a smooth glide in and out, and he breathes against Lance’s knee. 

He still smells like that lotion, sweet and musky all in one. Lance’s skin is slick with it and sweat both and he’s almost too hard to hold. Keith just grips at him tighter, his pants slipping down the cut of his hips. The sound of his belt buckle makes a high tinkling sound at the apex of every thrust.

“Keith, Keith,” Lance calls to him. His hand reaches out and Keith takes it, slows his hips. He kisses at the fluttering pulse under the thin skin of Lance’s wrist, tucks his noise into the curve of Lance’s palm. He leans forward, bending Lance in half at the waist. They both grunt, the sound that ekes out of Lance is more of a whine. He takes him that much deeper and Keith can see tears gathered at the corner of Lance’s bright eyes.

“You gonna come? Am I fucking you deep enough?” He asks, and Keith smothers Lance’s lips with his own, drinks down his the sweet sound of his cries. 

He puts a hand to Lance’s waist, eases the slide of his cock in and out gently, makes sure that Lance feels every inch of him. He kisses Lance all over his reddened face, nips at his throat, sucks a livid bruise into his skin. _ Mine mine please  _ his mind chants,  _ stay _ .

Lance’s fingers run through his hair, grips at his neck. His nails bite into the skin there. “Kei- oh, I’m close,” he moans, squeezing at Keith’s ribs with his thighs. The heavy weight of his feet in those fucking heels rest against Keith’s spine. 

“You feel so good, Lance,” and Lance’s legs wrap around Keith tighter, pushing out the air from his lungs. “Fuck me, after, with your shoes on, baby oh baby,” Keith moans, the image of Lance towering over him, commanding his body, flushing his blood to the surface. Keith clutches at him. “I’m gonna- can I? Lance, please-”

“Yes, yes,” Lance chants. “Come in me.”

His gut clenches and his heart squeezes in his chest. The rush starts right behind his navel, surges outwards towards his toes and up his throat. His skin tightens and everything turns sharp, electric, and the only sounds he can hear is his own harsh breathing and Lance’s moans as he snaps up into his body.

He doesn’t forget though, can feel Lance’s cock rutting against his abdominals. Keith fucks through his orgasm, Lance’s hole fluttering around his sensitive shaft. “You’re doing so good, come on my cock, come on. Without a hand on you, come like a good boy-”

And Lance shouts, his nails scratching down Keith’s back, a bright flare of feel good pain. He thrashes on the bed, tries to squirm away. “No, you don’t,” Keith grunts, sits up, pins one of Lance’s legs down to one side and keeps fucking into him. He plants a knee onto the mattress, gets some leverage under himself, keeps riding Lance’s prostate until he’s wailing. 

Lance slams his palms against the sheets, scratches at his own chest, pulls at his sweaty hair, overstimulated. “Please!” he whimpers. “Too much, Keith, please…”

Keith pulls his hips away, the head of his cock coming to with a rush of come. Lance’s rim is red and puffy, so well used. He lays on top of Lance, blanketing him, and his mind shifts within the quiet lassitude of his body. When he comes back a little from the ether, Lance’s fingers are in his hair, twirling the strands at the crown of his head. Keith notices their breathing has slowed and they’re starting to get uncomfortably sticky.

“Shower?” he asks, lifting himself onto his elbow. He looks down at Lance. His eyes are bright even in the half-light of the moon filtering in from outside. Keith can see the bruising mark from his mouth coming in nicely on the side of Lance’s throat. Lance nods, pushes at Keith’s shoulder and Keith rolls off of him. 

As he stands, Keith’s come starts to slide down his leg- down the tense muscle of his calf, forced that way from his shoes. Lance’s legs are a little shaky as he crosses the room, and Keith’s blood starts to simmer, cock starts to get hard and Keith swallows down a moan. 

Lance turns to see what’s keeping him, catches him staring and gives Keith a little smirk. He raises his brow.

“Well,” he starts, already bending at the waist. “Make it quick, Hot Shot,” he says, voice cutting through the fog rolling in through Keith’s mind. “I was promised a fuck and I have every intention of coming to collect before the night is through.”


End file.
